


Something Long Overdue

by Jakobslock



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Torture, Reunion Fic, descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23388235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakobslock/pseuds/Jakobslock
Summary: Alistair Hammerlock has been locked up in the Anvil for a month, and Wainwright will do anything to get him back, come hell or high water. It's just a matter of waiting, for a reunion that's long overdue.A fic set right after the Anvil prison breakout
Relationships: Sir Hammerlock/Wainwright Jakobs
Comments: 11
Kudos: 81





	Something Long Overdue

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to my friend Flynn who wanted to be in this fic to have a crush on Zane

Wainwright Jakobs is 54 years old, and the most tired he's ever been. So far, he's lived his entire life so far in the hellish swamps of Eden 6. His childhood home can fit 200 people but currently houses (housed) one. He's been kidnapped for ransom once, shot six times, once by accident, and has lived his entire life thus far in a household defined by business over all else. What wasn't controlled by corporate operations was smothered by his own inferiority complex. The past month has been the worst month of his entire life, and that includes the horrendous hunting trip his father dragged him on for his 16th birthday. That one ended with them getting stranded in the swamp for 4 days and getting bitten by a grog. This month took the cake for the worst one of his life because in the past 4 weeks, 6 days, and 13 hours, his father had been murdered in front of him, his home had been stolen from him, his people had been murdered, a bunch of rabid cultists had invaded his planet, he had been shot, again, and most importantly, the love of his life had been thrown in prison by his sister of all people.

Coincidentally, Wainwright has also been sober for 4 weeks, 2 days, and 4 hours, though right now, he really wishes he wasn't.

For the past several weeks, Wainwright has been focused on trying to keep the Children of the Vault from murdering every Edenian native in their path. When the Calypsos first struck, he'd initially made for the lodge, only to find it abandoned. He had stood on the porch, overlooking the basin, and saw the smoke rising from burning buildings. His own problems could wait for now. He'd managed to get in contact with Clay, told him to get to Reliance and do what he could. Wainwright himself had gone around the smaller settlements of the basin, pooling together survivors. The lodge was the safest place on Eden, so he'd been back and forth, bringing people with him and keeping them there. Most of the Edenian people seemed to have fled, or fought off CoV well enough that they didn't need Wainwright's help, though he told them the lodge was open. A good amount didn't have resources or capability to hold their own, so they came with him. The rest were slowly dissolving into peat in the swamps.

He hadn't been able to get in contact with anyone who had worked at the Estate, and had to assume they were either dead or now working with Aurelia. That of itself, or of herself, came with its own host of issues. As it turns out, dating a man who's related to an extremely wealthy megalomaniac with a penchant for murder has more familial complications than one would think. The last morning Wainwright had seen Alistair, he'd been trying to convince him not to confront her. Aurelia's dreadnaught had been suspended in orbit around the planet, lying in wait for something. What that was, they didn't know, but Alistair seemed convinced she was here for him, or at least because of him.

"If I hadn't come to Eden-6, she wouldn't have either," he had said, the night before. Wainwright had begged him to leave it be, that they'd figure it out together. He thought he'd succeeded, but then the next morning the Calypso's arrived. With them, Aurelia's true purpose on Eden became clear, and took Alistair with it.

Though losing Jakobs was an unexpected consequence, Wainwright had always known that, eventually, someone would come for the vault. Deleon's failure wouldn't last forever. His family had been guarding it for 300 years, and not even he knew exactly where it was, or how to get in. He knew he had to keep it safe, it was his duty as a Jakobs to keep war from coming to Eden. But war had come already, and the only thing he cares about is getting Alistair back.   
He'd managed to get in contact with a mercenary team two weeks ago, people who went under the name 'B-Team'. Alistair knew them, and judging by their demolitions expert's cry of outrage and swearing for vengeance when Wainwright told them the job, they knew him rather well. They went to infiltrate the Anvil 3 days ago, and then Wainwright stopped getting updates. Coupled with that came a new surge from the CoV to try and take the lodge for themselves. They'd managed to hold the fort down for themselves fairly well, at least until they'd smashed through a back window and boxed them in.

Thankfully, where there's a vault, there will be vault hunters. In this case, one with deadly aim and a bizarre accent, the other a siren with a fondness for upper cuts. If they hadn't shown up, Wainwright wasn't entirely sure they would have survived the CoV attack. Still, they'd only lost a few people, rest their souls. They'd been hastily buried off to the side of the lodge. As much as it pained him, Wainwright knew they would never have a proper burial. The vault hunters had helped with the digging, and the man had poured out some of the whiskey in his flask on the dirt mounds. A Pandora burial, as he described it. The pair had been sent from the Crimson Raiders, Alistair's friends, people he could trust. The man was named Flynt, Wainwright couldn't remember his first name. He had told him they were here to beat the CoV to the vault. So, he cut a deal, and Wainwright sent them after the B Team, and after Alistair. If, no, not if, when, Alistair was back, the vault was theirs. He didn't give a damn anymore.

It's been almost 11 hours, more precisely, 10 hours, 52 minutes, since the vault hunters had made for the Anvil. Wainwright had asked them to echo him with updates but once they got in, Flynt had sent a brief message consisting mostly of him yelling obscenities and "CALL YA LATER" with gunfire in the background. That was 9 hours ago. It was the dead of night, and Wainwright knew he should probably rest at some point, but with the way his nerves were going haywire there was no way he'd ever get there. He'd taken first watch out front of the lodge, then second, then some kid whose name he doesn't know and who looked way too young to be a refugee took third watch with a polite, "Sir, no offense, but you look like shit and should go inside." 

They're not wrong, of course. He knows he looks like hell. He hasn't slept well in weeks and his clothes are covered with every type of swamp gunk imaginable combined with a considerable amount of blood, although only some of that was his own. He caught his ragged reflection in a window as he paced, and sighed. Alistair always managed to look impeccable, even when they were a week into a hunt with no more than occasionally bathing in a spring. Wainwright hopes he won't judge him too harshly, there's been no time for any clean up. He supposes he has time now, to sleep, maybe try to get the dirt off his coat, or change the bandages on the bullet hole through his arm. But as the old grandfather clock chimes out 2 am, the only thing he's doing is pacing. Back and forth across the sitting area of the lodge, if his mama were here she'd chide him for wearing a hole through the carpet. His mama isn't here, neither is anyone else, and that's the problem.

He glanced around the lodge, and catches the eye of his father's portrait. He looks away, pointedly. Even though he's done it several times, Wainwright wanders around to make bed checks. There's about 20 or so people here, most of them thankfully able to sleep on a bed or a couch. He quietly walks through the building, poking his head in every room and silently counting heads. The lodge is a family property, of course, though it's run as a bed and breakfast in the off season by a few locals. 

Alistair unofficially moved to Eden about 4 years ago, and he's much more fond of the lodge than the estate. Wainwright absolutely doesn't blame him, the estate's sprawling halls and vacant rooms feel suffocating compared to the warm, quiet homey comfort of the lodge. He and Alistair have spent a good deal of time here, enough so for Alistair to have set up a section of a room as his personal study and for the two of them to have their own wardrobes here. Wainwright peers silently into the room he and Alistair stay in. No one's moved in here, yet, though all of the extra pillows and blankets are gone. He hopes it's not out of some nonsensical show of respect. He hasn't earned that. 

He deliberately tries to avoid looking to the left wall, where he knows Alistair's armoire rests with his hat hung on the corner. _This one is my hunting hat, Winny, it's a backup and less suited for formal company than my usual._

Wainwright walks away, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. He desperately wishes he'd stop hearing Alistair's voice in his head like a ghost. Alistair ain't dead yet. Hopefully. The vault hunters should have checked in by now. He saw how they shredded through the cultists, surely combined with a mercenary team they wouldn't have much trouble, right? Some prisoners and CoV were nothing, hopefully. He'd heard some troubling rumors about the prison's new warden, however. Some nutcase put in place by the Calypsos, of course. He was trying to avoid thinking about it, and failing. He was trying to in general avoid thinking about what those maniacs had done to Alistair, because when he thought about it he got swept up in panic so quickly he couldn't breathe. Aurelia and the CoV were using him as a bargaining chip, he knew. The vault key for Alistair, except Wainwright didn't have the vault key nor its location. Thankfully, the CoV didn't know that. Wainwright had a sneaking suspicion even if he did hand over the vault key they'd kill Alistair anyway.

2:17 in the morning now. The lodge is eerily quiet considering the number of people currently inhabiting it. The only sounds are the slow tick tick tick of the clock and the soft tapping of Wainwright's boots across the floor. At 2:34 he gives up, resigning himself to restlessness and heads outside. The kid from earlier is perched on the front wall of the porch, a rifle held across their lap. Looking at them now, he realizes he judged them to be much younger than they actually were. They hadn't noticed Wainwright yet. For some reason, the sight made him stop in the doorway. The kid's hair was bright blue, but with a dark patch on the temple from where Wainwright knew a cultist had got them with the butt of a gun earlier. Their clothes were ripped in places, almost entirely coated in a fine sheen of mud and grime. They fiddled anxiously with the gun in their lap. 

A month ago, this kid would have been working at an internship during the day in the lumberyard, or taking classes online, maybe walking home after picking up their siblings from school to make it back in time for dinner with their parents. He hadn't seen the kid with anyone else, and tried to assume the best but knew logically he should assume the worst. Wainwright sighs, shoulders dropping with his daily crisis of 'none of this should be happening', and the kid turns around with a start, staring at him wide eyed with their finger on the trigger.

"Relax, it's jus' me kiddo, nothing to worry about," Wainwright says, and the kid instantly relaxes. "I can take back over watch, you should be getting some sleep, er…"

"It's Flynn, sir," they supply helpfully, before narrowing their eyes at him, "My shift isn't up yet, it's only been a couple of hours Mr. Jakobs, I'm fine here." Wainwright shrugs, then winces as he remembers the wound on his arm.

"Just Wainwright's fine, kid. I'm good to take over," he smiles in a way he hopes is convincing. Flynn narrows their eyes,

"No offense, but you still look like shit. You do know people like, need sleep to survive, right?" They say, their tone chastising in a way that makes Wainwright smile legitimately.

"Ah, yeah, sleep ain't happening though, not with all this mess goin' on tonight," He pushes himself up onto the wall, leaning against the pillar opposite of Flynn. "There's a storm comin', kid, relaxin's a near impossible thing."

"Isn't this already a shitstorm," Flynn says, lips quirked, and Wainwright shakes his head, softly chuckling.

"Yeah, yeah it is, sure as shit it is," He looks off through the trees, to where he knows his home lies on a hilltop in the distance, "Things're either about to get better or they're gonna get a whole hell of a lot worse."

"Is that why those vault hunter guys were here?" Flynn asks, unconsciously tightening their grip on the gun.

"More're less, yeah. Though right now they're on a bit of a rescue mission. Hopefully," Wainwright takes a handkerchief out of his pocket, running his thumb over the filigree "AH" embroidered in the corner, "Least it better be a damn rescue." Flynn is quiet a moment, like they're debating what to say. In the end, they lean back against the stone pillar at their back,

"Well, two people can keep watch for a bit."

For a while, they simply sit in silence, Wainwright fiddling with the handkerchief and trying to keep his breathing even before restlessness can take over again. Across from him, Flynn watches the sky, Wainwright watches them grow tired as the night stretches on, and he pulls himself up to sit on the wall across from them proper. He can feel himself starting to fade, resting his head against the wall behind him. Whenever he gets close to drifting off, his subconscious jolts him awake. He has to stay awake, he can't sleep without knowing what's happening at the Anvil.

"So what's the rescue?" Flynn's voice cuts through the anxious hum in his mind, and he turns to them. They're watching him curiously, earnestly.

"S'not so much a what as a who. One in particular. Man named Alistair Hammerlock." He says, and Flynn's eyes widen.

"Hammerlock? Like the scary ice bitch?" they ask, and Wainwright nods.

"It's complicated. Alistair's my partner, you see, and that Harpy's his older sister. Supposedly him being on Eden is a good piece of why she came here with the zealots." Flynn makes a face, and Wainwright has a moment of fear, or something like it, of this kid judging Alistair. Or blaming him. They pull their knees to their chest, glaring at their shoes.

"She's a pretty damn shit sister then, I guess." They mutter, and Wainwright can't help but sigh softly in relief.

"It sure seems that way, yeah. I ain't met her myself, but I think if I did I'd shoot her for throwin' Alistair in the Anvil."

"Woah, the Anvil? Seriously? That's for like, the super evil jackass guys." 

Wainwright chuckles softly, "Generally, yeah, but the CoV have it now. Those vault hunters are goin in there to find Alistair and bring him back here, if it all goes well." Flynn looks contemplative, and goes quiet. A moment later they perk up a bit,

"Hey, Sir- er, Wainwright? Can you introduce me to the vault hunters when they get back?" They look nervous, and he nods.

"Sure thing, kid," he says, and they beam at him, before staring out at the stars.

"I always dreamed about being a vault hunter." Wainwright doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't, and they settle into comfortable silence.   
He doesn't know how long they're sat there, he's about to tell Flynn to go inside and get some sleep when they suddenly bolt upright, looking out over the trees with wide eyes. Wainwright's immediately on edge, hand going to the pistol on his belt. Shit, the shotgun was in the lodge. He looks around, but can't make out any threat. He narrows his eyes, "Flynn, what's-"

"Engine." They say, eyes fixed on the road leading to the lodge. Wainwright goes quiet, and sure enough, there's the sound of a vehicle approaching. Flynn jumps up on the wall, pointing their gun at the road, waiting. Wainwright takes his pistol out of its holster, wishing he had the luxury of assuming the best. He knows that most likely it's some CoV trying for a night strike, but he wants more than anything for it to be the vault hunters, for it to be Alistair. He's hoping beyond hope as the cars, two in total, pull up in front of the lodge. He's still hoping when no one shoots at him immediately as he draws the hammer back on the pistol. Someone pulls themselves up out of the first car's gunner seat, and Flynn cocks their rifle.

"Woah, easy there, boyo! We're a load'a friendlies and I am far too handsome to get me face blown off by a toddler!" As Flynn lowers their gun, Wainwright thinks his heart stops. Flynt grins at him wide, throwing him a casual salute. "Evening there, bossman." The siren waves casually from the driver's seat as the two of them hop out of the car. Wainwright blinks, then suddenly remembers how no one answered his calls.

"You son of a bitch!" He yells suddenly, causing Flynt to grin at him wider, "What in the hell happened? You were supposed to check in!" Flynt looks like he's gonna say something obnoxious when the siren claps a hand over his mouth.

"The situation got complicated, we had to quickly improvise to take down enemy defenses and that involved knocking down the radio tower," she helpfully explains, and before Wainwright can respond she pulls her hand from Flynt's mouth with a disgusted noise. "Did you seriously just lick me? Really?"

"What else was I s'posed ta do, Amara?" Flynt laughs as the siren, Amara, shoves at him hard. Wainwright has to resist rolling his eyes.

"Where the hell are the others? The ones I specifically hired you to go get?" He asks, irritably. Amara casually gestures over her shoulder with a thumb and sure enough, another technical rolls up to the lodge a moment later.

There's four people in that one, he notes. Not three, four. Which has to mean... Wainwright immediately descends the stairs, ignoring Flynt and Amara and scanning the car with a climbing feeling of desperation. The little demolitions girl is driving, and the giant man is in the passenger seat. They clamber out of the car, coming up to talk to him, but he's looking straight past them. The other member of the team, the scrawny one with the bird, gets out of the backseat. He turns to help the fourth person out, and Wainwright only half hears the choked noise that leaves his throat as his heart starts beating harder than it ever has. The two of them are laughing over something, like old friends, and the smile Wainwright sees on his partner's face is nearly enough to make him cry on the spot.

Alistair stumbles a bit getting out of the car, but the other man, Mordecai?, keeps him upright with a laugh. Wainwright's feet are moving before they tell him to, ignoring the demolitions girl and Flynt's attempts to get his attention. Alistair looks up, catching Wainwright's eyes with his own, he smiles so brightly and before Alistair can even speak Wainwright is pulling the man into his arms. It's a bit rough, perhaps, but neither of them seem to care, judging by how tightly Alistair's arms wrap around his chest. Wainwright's entire world has narrowed down to the man in front of him. He's having trouble even speaking, feeling tears prick his eyes. Alistair sighs against him, and his metal arm is digging into Wainwright's ribs but he's never cared about anything less in his moment.

"Oh, Winny," Alistair breathes, his voice sounding slightly pained. Wait, pained, shit. Wainwright pulls back, moving to gently hold Alistair's face in his hands as Alistair makes a small noise of protest, "What are you-"

"Are you hurt?" Wainwright chokes out, voice cracking, "What- What did they do t’ you?" He begins looking Alistair over. A poorly cleaned and unhealed cut on his cheek, a black eye, a rather severe split lip, a still bleeding wound on his temple. His left arm has a ring of raw, scabbed skin encircling his wrist, with a bandage wrapped further up on his arm that’s spotted with red and brown, his right metal forearm has been dented. The rest of him is covered, though he's lost his usual garb, instead dressed in drab prison scrubs, dirtied and stained with what he hopes to god is dirt. His shirt is torn, there's a bit of a bandage Wainwright can see wrapped around his shoulder. His collarbones seem too prominent, his shirt hanging concerningly loose on his shoulders.

"Nothing I have not previously endured, mostly superficial injuries." Alistair says with a little shrug of one shoulder, his voice slightly hoarse. Wainwright feels his heart break a little because he sounds so tired, so drained and so not like himself. When Alistair gently cups Wainwright's cheek with his palm, he leans into it, tilting his head to press a kiss to Alistair's palm.

"Alistair, I-" Wainwright swallows. Four weeks of planning what he'd say when he had him back and now he can't get the words out. "I'm so-" He doesn’t get to finish his thought before Alistair shakes his head, fisting his hand around Wainwright's torn lapel and kissing him as though his life depends on it. Wainwright thinks his life absolutely depends on it, because there's no way he could have lived without this, without him. A month was a month too long, and as he wraps arms around Alistair's waist and returns the kiss tenfold, he tries to pour every ounce of fear and anger and love he has into it. When they finally break away, both breathing hard, Alistair's forehead pressed to his own, Wainwright can't help but smile despite how much he wants to cry. Alistair smiles back, softly, and tightens his grip on Wainwright's jacket.

"Sorry for being late my dear, I got a bit, er, tied up," he says, a bit bashfully, "Quite literally, in fact." Wainwright blinks, taken off guard. Then, he starts laughing, because that's Alistair, his Alistair, a hundred percent. Alistair looks taken aback, but within a moment he's started on it as well. As they cling to each other laughing, Wainwright focuses on that sound, something he never thought he'd hear again. He focuses on the feeling of him in his arms, warm and solid with a beating heart. He looks at Alistair, beaten, exhausted, alive, and knows that never in his life will he ever see a sight so beautiful again.

"Hell, I missed you Alistair," he says gently, still chuckling a bit. Alistair grins, sharply exhaling with a shudder, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. Wainwright takes Alistair's hand in his own, dabbing at Alistair's cheeks with the tattered handkerchief, careful to avoid the cuts and bruises. "You have no idea how much, darlin', no idea at all," Wainwright mumbles, tucking the handkerchief into his pocket again. Alistair's eyes slip closed, and Wainwright presses a kiss to his forehead.

"If it's anywhere near how much I missed you, I believe I know exactly how much," Alistair replies, smiling softly. He takes a moment to look Wainwright over for himself, expression instantly darkening when he spots the bandage around Wainwright’s arm.

“Oh for- Did you get shot again?” He exclaims.

"...No," Wainwright responds, to which Alistair stares at him deadpan and squeezes his arm where the bandage is. "Ow- Shit, okay, I got shot a little! It's fine!"

"What's this now, seven? How many times have you gotten shot since we met?" Alistair glares, his bionic eye glowing softly. Wainwright cocks an eyebrow.

"We countin' the time you shot me?" he asks, thinking back to their first meeting. Alistair instantly rolls his eyes.

"No, we are not, because I still blame you for that thank you very much."

Wainwright snorts, unable to help himself from kissing Alistair again. That attitude is one of the things he loved most. Alistair kept the kiss going, making a small, choked off noise and holding Wainwright's lapels so tight he could hear the seams break a bit. This time they were interrupted by a loud wolf whistle. They broke apart and both instantly whipped around to find the source of the noise. That, of course, turned out to be Flynt.

"You lovebirds gonna stand in the yard all night wearin' each other's faces off or can we all go get some shut-eye?" He says, waggling his eyebrows, "Or are you two kids gonna stay up talkin'? Bit of a shag perhaps? Have a little reunion, eh?" 

Wainwright flips him the bird, glaring half-heartedly with a slight flush at Flynt's crassness. Alistair merely shook his head, taking Wainwright's hand and leading him towards the door. He stopped to give Flynt a wink,

"If you're looking to join in, I'm afraid you'll have to wait a while, haven't seen my partner in over a month you see," Alistair says with a grin, wrapping his arm around Wainwright's waist, "We'll do our best to keep it quiet so you might get the beauty rest you so desperately need."  
Flynt for once doesn't have a comeback, staring somewhat wide-eyed for a moment before cackling loudly, clapping a hand on Alistair's shoulder. Alistair winces, but doesn't comment.

"Ahh, I knew I liked ya mate!" he grins, before Amara smacks him, ignoring his cursing. 

"You two go inside and get some rest, Zane and I will keep watch the rest of the night," she says, smiling at the two of them. She seems pretty sweet when she's not destroying everything in sight. Wainwright nods at her, also ignoring Flynt's protests at being given watch duty,

"Thank ya kindly, ma'am. Y'all are more than welcome to anything we have here for as long as you need, and I will gladly compensate you for anythin' and everythin' you need me to do so for. Money ain't an object," he says, holding out his hand to her. She takes it, giving it a firm shake and nods. 

"Don't worry about payment with us, this one's on the house!" Brick interjects, "There's no charge for helping family." Mordecai nods his agreement.  
Alistair rolls his eyes, and Wainwright notices he's swaying a bit where he stands. He gives Brick a Look, his signature 'I'm not accepting arguments' look.

"I'll just wire you the finances like usual," he mutters, and Wainwright wraps an arm around him. 

"Let's get you inside, yeah?" he asks, not masking the concern in his voice. Alistair only nods, so Wainwright takes that as their cue, addressing the small crowd, "Everyone, you have my undying gratitude for everything you've done. Feel free to stay here for the night, and we can discuss further action in the morning." Alistair makes a soft sound, and Wainwright leads them both inside, waving to Tina and Flynn where the two are excitedly talking. 

Alistair's demeanor changes the second they get a few feet into the lodge, slowing down, leaning heavily against Wainwright, his feet dragging. Wainwright would offer to pick him up and carry him, but he knows Alistair's pride isn't something to argue with. He gets them back to their room as fast as he can, locking the door behind them before helping ease Alistair onto the bed. He flicks the bedside light on, keeping it low. It seems appropriate. 

It's eerily quiet, and he doesn't know what to say. Alistair sighs, shoulders slumping, 

"Could you hand me my travel bag, please?" he asks, his voice low. Wainwright nods, retrieving it from it's spot in the second drawer of Alistair's armoire. He grabs the first aid kit too, sitting down gently next to him. Alistair takes the bag, rummaging around a moment and coming out with a flask. He unscrews the cap, and Wainwright notices that his hands are shaking. Alistair takes a long swig of whatever's in it, scotch, knowing him, and offers it to Wainwright. He shakes his head, 

"Nah, I'll pass." he says. Alistair raises an eyebrow at him, and takes another swig of it for himself.

"That's unusual," he murmurs, cursing softly under his breath as he tries to screw the cap back on through the tremors. Wainwright gently takes it from him, closing it and setting it to the side.

"Been stone cold sober over a month now, can't afford to lose focus. Gotta stay sharp, since everything went to shit," Wainwright laughs dryly, shrugging a shoulder. Alistair looks away, staring intently at the floor. Wainwright stops laughing. He gently places a hand on Alistair's knee, which to his relief Alistair immediately takes in his own and squeezes. He missed how nicely their hands fit together. Wainwright rubs his thumb softly over Alistair's knuckles, and gets a lump in his throat over the scabs covering them. He swallows hard, reaching for the first aid kit.

"Did they uh. Help get you patched up?" Wainwright tries very hard to keep his voice from wavering. Alistair nods once, lightly touching the bandage on his shoulder.

"The parts that urgently needed attention, yes. Otherwise no."

"May I?"

“It’s nothing that won’t heal-”

“Alistair...Please.” 

Alistair’s shoulders slump, but he nods. Wainwright gets up only to grab a water bottle and one of his old shirts, wetting it before gently dabbing at the cut on Alistair’s temple. 

“What happened?” he asks, quietly, almost as if he’s afraid to say it louder and acknowledge it. Alistair hisses softly, but otherwise doesn’t protest. He keeps his touch gentle and soft as possible, slowly clearing away the dried blood. He’s gotten pretty good at fixing up injuries, out of necessity over the last month. He tries to keep his focus on what he’s doing, rather than who he’s patching up. All he wants to do is pull Alistair into his arms and never let him go, but he’s hurt, and Wainwright has no idea how severe. This comes first.

“Interrogation,” Alistair mumbles, looking down at his hands in his lap, “I don’t believe it’s anything you would enjoy hearing about.” 

“...You don’t gotta tell me anythin’, an’ I won’t make you. But I’ve spent a month goin’ through every worst case scenario in my mind of what they could possibly be doin’ to you. I think I need to know,” Wainwright miraculously keeps his voice from shaking, taking a small butterfly bandage and closing the split skin on Alistair’s temple. He gently places a finger under his chin, tilting his head to face him more and not commenting on the fact that Alistair closes his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, carefully cleaning the dirt out of the cut on his cheek. Alistair winces a bit at that, eyes still shut.

“They wanted the vault key, of course. It’s all they wanted, the entire time. I assume they finally gave up on the search and brought me in for...Questioning. The temple is from that, one of them knocked me unconscious with a police baton. I don’t know what the one on my cheek is from.” Alistair’s voice is strangely monotone, which sends a fresh surge of worry through Wainwright’s veins. He bites it back, finishing up on his cheek and doing what he can to clean up the split lip. “The eye and lip are from being punched,” Alistair supplies. 

"I figured," Wainwright mumbles, wetting the shirt again and gently running it over some very prominent, finger shaped bruises on Alistair's jaw and throat.  
"Choking," he says. Wainwright nods, not trusting himself to comment on that. He fixes up the remaining cuts and bruises on his face and neck, and gently places his hand over Alistair's collar, waiting for his permission. Not for modesty's sake, lord knows he's seen everything Alistair has to offer and more. Alistair winces, hesitating before he nods. He takes sometimes out of his pocket and places it in Wainwright's hand. Some sort of small shiv that looks like it's made from a sharpened toothbrush.

"I...Don't believe I can move my left arm enough to get it over my head," he explains. Wainwright nods again, wondering if he ever had to use it on someone. It's not exactly a decent blade, but it gets the job done and they manage to cut it and slip it off Alistair's shoulders.

"I, well, sorry in advance," Alistair says quickly, just in time for Wainwright to get a look at him and immediately feel like he's going to throw up.

"Oh dear lord..." he says in shock, his voice cracking. Alistair looks...Bad. Very bad. He's more bruises and blood than he is person, it looks like. Other than the bandage around his shoulder, his torso is uncovered, leaving the damage clear. The worst area seems to be his ribs, which all over are a mottled mess of heavy bruising and dried blood. Some of the broken skin resembles crescent shapes, almost like the toe of someone's boot. Wainwright swallows hard when he realizes that's probably exactly what it is. Alistair's upper chest and his stomach are covered in cuts, ranging from long and shallow to short and deep. Some of them are still bleeding, and so are the marks on his ribs. The right side seems to be much worse. though "worse" is relative.

"I believe some of my ribs are broken," Alistair whispers, and Wainwright realizes he's been staring instead of helping. "I warned you," Alistair laughs, hollow, directing his gaze towards the floor.

"I- '' Wainwright tries to say, but the words get stuck in his throat. Deep breath. "I think we got an anshin around here somewhere, I know they make you nauseous, but somethin' like this..."

"It's alright. It's largely just surface damage, medical supplies should be reserved for people who need it," Alistair replies, his voice holding that stubborn insistence to it. He glanced down at his chest a bit, and his eyes widen, as if he didn't realize himself how bad it was. "Though, some bandages might be helpful."

Yeah, no shit, your body looks like it went through a pulverizer, Wainwright thinks to himself. He nods, unable to form the words aloud. He gets the shirt as drenched as he possibly can and starts trying to dab off some of the blood, at least enough that he can see the damage and gauge it a bit clearer.   
There's...A lot of blood. The logical part of Wainwright's mind knows that it's due to scraped off skin, large surface area, etc. The part of Wainwright's mind that's acknowledging the fact that he's currently trying to mop up his boyfriend's blood after not knowing if he was alive or not for a month is trying to send him into a full blown panic attack. His shirt, once a very refined striped cream color, is nearly black in the dim light with blood and dirt. 

Alistair doesn't offer an explanation this time, and Wainwright doesn't ask. He can puzzle it out for himself. They sit in heavy silence, Wainwright methodically clears up what he can, running through the motions he's picked up. Clean, coat with a disinfectant spray, cover in large gauze pads and wrap bandages around the body to keep it there. His hands falter at every pained noise from Alistair, but he forces himself to keep going. 

"Almost done," he whispers, in the soft, reassuring voice he's been using on the civilians, "Lift your arms a little, sweetheart." 

Alistair does so, though he seems to be struggling badly with his left arm. Wainwright works quick, securing the bandages around his chest. Tomorrow, he'll convince Alistair to use an anshin for the cracked ribs. For now he wants to get this over with because it's killing him. Last bit.

"Alright, nearly there. Mind me switching out your bandages? The uh, the older ones."

Alistair laughs softly, giving Wainwright a sidelong glance and a small smile. "I would appreciate it. It's starting to sting a bit." His smile's reassuring but his words aren't. This time, when Wainwright uncovers his injuries he's still horrified, obviously, but it's doubled with confusion.

"What on Eden happened?" he asks, voice thick with more emotions than he can name. Alistair's shoulder isn't the same type of injury as his torso, but what looks like blistering. It's spread over his shoulder, radiating out from one point under his collarbone near the junction of his shoulder. Wainwright's definitely staring when Alistair's voice snaps him out of it.

"Cattle prod, used extensively in the exact same spot. I think the intent was to cause nerve damage to my arm." His voice strains a bit, which is the most emotion Wainwright has heard from him since this started. Before Wainwright can start trying to treat and rebandage him, Alistair tugs at the gauze around his wrist, wincing when it sticks as he unwraps it. He reveals two deep, jagged gashes halfway up his forearm. "Then, when that was taking too long, they decided they were going to cut off my other hand."

"Alistair," Wainwright chokes out, his heart pounding in barely repressed panic. 

"The warden kept calling me "machine man", I suppose he thought it'd be funny if the mechanical bits ended up being all that was left," Alistair says quietly, covering his left wrist with his metal right hand. Wainwright's horror keeps growing, and he claps a hand over his mouth to try and keep from screaming. He can't stop staring at the gashes, morbidly wondering if they're deep enough to hit bone. The thought immediately makes him want to throw up. He doesn't look away, but he does squeeze his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose. 

A hand covers his, the cool metal a welcome distraction. He takes a deep breath, opening his eyes to find Alistair looking at him intently. His missed that beautiful, mismatched gaze so much it aches. That warm spark in his eyes is still there, even now. 

"They did not do anything irreparable," Alistair says, trying to smile. It doesn't quite get there.

"But they were going to."

"They didn't, and I am still here, in one piece."

"They could have killed you-"

"I _know,_ Wainwright," Alistair cuts him off, voice cracking. He looks away. "I know..." Wainwright's panic is quickly replaced with regret as Alistair trails off. He knows, of course he knows, he was the one there while Wainwright sat back and did nothing. He goes back to cleaning up blood, hoping to god they're finally nearing the end. 

"Al...I'm gonna have t' use an anshin on you. Or at least part a' one. These cuts are too deep t' just bandage up," Wainwright tries even harder to keep his voice even, doing otherwise feels selfish at this point. He's got one hypo left here, hidden in his bedside table. The 7 seconds it takes to retrieve it and return to Alistair's side feel like a lifetime too long. 

"Oh, alright," Alistair sighs, "Only because my arm's gone numb. Not the whole thing."

"Not the whole thing," Wainwright agrees. He decides it'd be best to inject close to the wounds, so he has to use less and it works faster. He cleans the area below Alistair's elbow, trying not to grimace as he inserts the needle. He really, really hates needles, despite having to do injections on himself every two weeks for the last thirty years of his life, he still hates them. He hates them more when he has to stab them into his partner. Alistair makes a soft, pained noise but doesn't protest otherwise. Wainwright uses about a quarter of the anshin before removing it and placing a bandage over the puncture. Alistair sighs, his breathing shuddering as he exhales. Wainwright watches as the gashes stop bleeding almost entirely. They don't fully close, but the deeper tissue damage does knit back together, enough for Wainwright to be comfortable cleaning and rewrapping his arm with clean, tight bandages. 

"Ain't sure what I can really do for the shoulder...Don't know if anyone's got burn cream lying around." Alistair shakes his head, waving it off.

"It's fine, it's fine." He's getting worse at hiding the strain in his voice, so Wainwright just nods, cleaning and wrapping his shoulder the best he can. He knows that this had to be horrible and overwhelming, and he wants it to be done just as much as Alistair does.

"Okay, I think we're set here. Least as much as we can be," Wainwright's voice is barely above a whisper, "Any other things I gotta worry about?" Alistair shakes his head again, and Wainwright can see his finger twitching, four counts. He's counting his breaths, something he only does when he's counting down to take a shot or when he's attempting to hold off a tidal wave. Wainwright places a hand on his thigh, carefully, mindful of any hidden bruises. Alistair is still quiet. Alistair being quiet is not a good sign.

"I can get ya somethin' for the pain, if you need."

"The pain is nothing," Alistair mumbles, his voice still that odd monotone, "It is nothing I have not experienced before, and I have often experienced worse. I will be fine after a few days rest."

"If it ain't the pain, then what is it? I can tell somethin's up, Al, but I can't help if you won't tell me what it is," Wainwright says, his voice gentle but insistent. He takes Alistair's hand in his.

"I..." Alistair starts, cutting himself off with a strangled sound. Wainwright keeps quiet, gives him all the time he needs. Alistair takes a deep breath, and Wainwright realizes he's blinking back tears. He squeezes Alistair's hand. 

"I thought I would never see you again," Alistair gets out, his voice finally breaking, his expression crumpling as tears finally start, Alistair unable to hold it back any longer. The same happens to Wainwright, his vision blurring and his heart breaking the second Alistair speaks. He makes a horrible, strangled noise, which Wainwright knows it him trying to suppress a sob. Wainwright reacts immediately, pulling Alistair into his arms as his own tears spill over, the sight of Alistair crying more than he can handle. 

Alistair wraps his functioning, metal arm around Wainwright, clinging desperately to his jacket collar with the other. He's squeezing Wainwright tight enough that it hurts but he doesn't care, he's never cared less. They're both crying in earnest now. All Wainwright wants to do is hold Alistair as tight as he can. But he can't, not with how hurt he is. He holds him as best he can, vowing that when Alistair is all healed up he's never going to let him go. 

Alistair rests his head against Wainwright's shoulder, Wainwright rests his head on Alistair's. Every sob or noise from Alistair makes his heart feel like it's being ripped out. Wainwright hates that he's crying. Alistair is such a strong, resilient person. Nothing gets to him, nothing scares him, he always seems so unshakable. Yet here he is, bloodied and the most broken Wainwright has ever seen him, crying against his shoulder at three in the morning. But here he is, still standing, still alive, and that just makes Wainwright cry harder. He wraps his arms more securely around him, settling an arm around his shoulders with the thumb of his left hand resting against Alistair's pulse point, just in case.

"I missed you so much," Alistair whispers, once they've both settled down a bit. Wainwright can't help but laugh, though it's more like a sob. 

"God, I missed you too. You got no damn idea how much," he mutters into Alistair's hair. Alistair laughs softly,

"I think I have a fairly decent idea, believe me." Wainwright laughs a bit more, pressing a kiss to Alistair's hair and gently rubbing his back.

"You damn well better, Hammerlock."

"Mm, I will if you keep doing that, Jakobs. Seems to be helping me get the idea a bit more." Alistair's shoulders shake a little, though now it's from trying not to laugh. Ridiculous man. Wainwright sighs dramatically, using his nails a bit and running his hand up and down Alistair's spine. He hums, practically a purr, settling heavier against Wainwright. Wainwright gently slips Alistair's glasses off and sets them aside, glad to see they're no more busted up than their usual level of broken. 

"You need to get some sleep, sweetheart," Wainwright mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disrupt this shaky calm they've built.

"As should you, you look terrible," Alistair's tone is joking, but his expression is one of concern as he sits up again to look Wainwright over. "Have you been getting any rest at all?"

Wainwright shrugs, a bit sheepish, "It's uh, it's been a minute. Been goin off the ol' two hour power nap system for a few weeks."

"Winny!" 

"I've been busy! You gonna tell me you've been gettin' your eight hours a' beauty sleep a night?"

"...No."

"Exactly, so hush it," Wainwright shoots back, absolutely no malice in his voice whatsoever. His heart swells at the fond eyeroll Alistair gives him.  
It takes a bit, but they eventually manage to get Alistair undressed enough to get his prosthetics off. He sighs with relief once they're off, rubbing at the raw areas where the harnesses sit with a wince. Wainwright sets them aside, making a mental note to see about getting them repaired as soon as possible. And to clean the blood off of the harness bits. Damn, he must have had them on the entire time. Prison seems like the kinda place where people steal anything not tied down, including someone's metal leg. Wainwright assumes he's probably sore, lightly massaging the remainder of Alistair's right leg. He makes an appreciative noise, so Wainwright digs his fingers in a bit more.

"Remind me to never leave those on for a month again," he practically moans, closing his eyes and leaning on Wainwright slightly, "You are my favorite person in this galaxy."

"I know," Wainwright smiles. He keeps going until he feels Alistair slump against him, his eyelids drooping. "Alright, you really need to get some rest. Both of us do." To his credit, Alistair does manage to roll his eyes. 

"You had better do that again come morning."

"Cross my heart."

As it turns out, lying down with broken ribs is neither convenient or comfortable. The solution they end up coming to is Wainwright sitting up against the headboard, with Alistair half in his lap leaning against him to avoid putting pressure on as many of his injuries as possible. The anshin rests on the bed next to them, in arms reach. Wainwright turns the light out, Alistair pulls a blanket up over them both, an old quilt that already had bloodstains on it. It's Alistair's favorite, he says it reminds him of Liar's Berg. Wainwright kisses his temple, Alistair nuzzles his cheek. 

"... Wainwright?" Alistair whispers, like he's worried something will hear him in the dark.

"Yeah? You hurtin'?"

"No, at least no more than I have been."

"What's troublin' you then?"

"It's rather foolish, but, you will still be here in the morning, won't you?"

Wainwright makes a soft, pained noise, and Alistair wraps the quilt a little tighter around them. At least they have the same fear, right now. Wainwright is scared shitless of it.

"If you ain't goin' anywhere, I ain't either. Had way too many dreams 'bout you bein' here then wakin' up to an empty bed," Wainwright responds after a moment. Alistair sighs, either in relief or worry. Wainwright can't tell, maybe it's both.

"So have I, and if I wake up like that again I will burn this entire planet down, I swear."

"You won't, cross my heart."

They fall quiet after that, the only sounds being the soft ticking of the clock and their breathing. After a while, sometime around 4:30, Alistair falls asleep, finally letting himself give in to exhaustion. Wainwright resolves that after this is all sorted out he's going to raze the Anvil to the damn ground, with every single CoV SoB inside. 

Wainwright doesn't sleep. He can't. He focuses on Alistair's breathing, the soft beat of his heart. He rests his fingertips lightly on Alistair's wrist, tracking his pulse. It might be paranoia, he knows it is, but he can't help it. He's been missing a month and now he's like...This. Wainwright thinks he's earned a bit of paranoia.

Alistair's breathing is even, but shallow. It rattles in his chest, likely just from the broken ribs. One of the men staying at the lodge had his ribs broken in an explosion, the cracked bone had punctured one of his lungs. He almost died, Wainwright remembers the horrible sound of his wheezing breath as they tried to drain the air from his chest. He listens carefully, for any signs of that awful sound from Alistair, relieved not to hear it. He doesn't think he could handle having to stab Alistair.

Wainwright forces himself to stay awake, or tries to. It becomes very hard to, once the first bits of sunlight start creeping through the window. Alistair is still fast asleep, he's snoring slightly, in fact. People are starting to stir outside, he thinks he hears Zane saying something down the hall. Alistair seems safe for now, there's people around, just in case. Maybe he'll just rest his eyes for a minute.

For the first time in a month he doesn't dream. No screams, no visions of people being blown to pieces, nothing. Just silence.  
Until a loud bang breaks that silence, that is. Wainwright jolts awake, instinctually feeling around for his shotgun. Wait, shit, where is it? It's not there, it's not there and there's something crushing him. Did a building collapse? Did the CoV finally take down the lodge? There's a weight on his chest, something heavy, solid, and warm- Warm?

"Wha'sthat?"

Wait. 

Wainwright forces himself into consciousness, shaking his head to clear the fog. He's stunned silent by what's before him. Or, on top of him. 

"Can't get a bloody moment's peace," Alistair grumbles, rubbing his eyes. Wainwright just stares at him, and the second Alistair comes into reality he does the same. Holy shit, he wasn't dreaming.

"So I wasn't dreaming," Alistair says, awe in his voice. He looks worse in daylight, Wainwright realizes. But damn his smile's blinding. 

"Hi," Wainwright's smiling too, so much it hurts.

"Hello, dear," Alistair says back. They both look at each other a moment longer in the golden light of morning. Wainwright starts laughing first, Alistair following, until they're both holding each other and laughing so much they can't breathe. Alistair kisses him first, and the two of them devolve into fits of giggling and kissing and gentle touches, getting properly reacquainted after a month and a lifetime spent apart. 

Far too soon, they get broken up by another loud bang. It's followed by a string of curse words in Spanish and a slightly maniacal cackle. Alistair groans, rolling his eyes.

"Well, it seems that Tina has made herself at home." Wainwright chuckles softly.

"Your friends're more batshit than a vampire's attic."

"Oh, I am well aware," Alistair laughs, climbing off Wainwright's lap, "You should try living with them in close quarters."

"Mm, think I'll pass on that one darlin'," Wainwright replies with a crooked grin. They work together to get Alistair's prosthetics back on, after another round of massage work of course. Wainwright makes yet another mental note to get them fixed. They make sure to bandage the raw spots before putting the harnesses back on. Alistair flexes his metal hand and shakes his head. It creaks, moving slowly like the wiring is damaged. He sighs, standing up to get something from his bag. He stumbles just a little. Wainwright gets up as well, wincing at the ache in his back. He makes to help out Alistair before a crash rings out from down the hall, more yelling accompanying it. 

"I'm half tempted t'just let them break whatever the hell they're gonna break, but they're gonna piss some folks off royally," Wainwright grumbles and glares at the door. Alistair chuckles, rooting through his armoire.

"They will and have burned down entire buildings entirely by accident. It may be good to check on them."

"What about you?"

"I will be quite alright. I'm very much looking forward to a shower, personally." Alistair turns to press a quick kiss to Wainwright's lips, before gathering up the pile he's collected and heading through to the attached bathroom.

"Y'need a hand?" Wainwright calls, concerned. Alistair pokes his head back out the door.

"Then we won't get out of the shower," he winks, "I will be quite alright." Wainwright rolls his eyes, cheeks just a bit pink.

"Take the rest of that damn anshin, Hammerlock"

"I will! Go make sure no one is blowing up anything essential, Jakobs."

He shuts the door after that. Wainwright stays a moment, listening for any sounds of pain, but only hears the shower kicking on. He gets a look at himself in the mirror on his way out the door. Still looks like shit, his eyes are red, but there's nothing he can do about it now.

The kitchen is, as he figured, a disaster zone. There seems to be flour on every conceivable surface, the oven is smoking, and there seems to be something dripping from the ceiling. In the middle of it stand Tina, Flynn, and Zane, all either arguing or laughing over something by the stove. Wainwright isn't even sure he wants to know what they're doing, and is just about to not ask when a hand grabs his arm and drags him away towards the dining table. 

"Don't bother," Amara tells him, her grips surprisingly strong, "Mordecai and I have already tried to figure out what the hell is going on multiple times. Trust me."

Wainwright sighs in relief, "Thank you kindly, Miss Amara."

"Just Amara, thank you."

Thankfully, the dining area has not been destroyed, occupied by the two of them along with Brick and Mordecai. There's a pot of coffee on the table which Wainwright gladly helps himself to.

"So, they always get that uh. Involved in cookin'?" he asks, trying to make casual conversation. Brick laughs, loud enough to shake the windows.

"Nah, this is a special occasion! Tina's cooking up something to celebrate saving Hammerlock and kicking ass."

"...Right," Wainwright replies, settling in with his coffee. Mordecai shrugs at him,

"Whatever she's doin' we'll make her clean it up, no worries boss." Wainwright nods, grateful. Mordecai grins, "Besides, she's done way worse stuff in a kitchen, you should have been there for Brick's birthday."

They settle into polite small talk from there, and Wainwright is pleasantly surprised to find that he actually likes this crew a good amount. They certainly have a good share of stories. He makes a mental note to ask if they have any involving Alistair.

Speaking of which. There's a sound behind them, accompanied by Brick's enthusiastic, "There's the man!" before Alistair is sliding into the seat next to Wainwright. He's dressed in his usual attire again, minus some pouches and his weird shoulder caps. He's even got the hat. Some of his lesser injuries seem to have nearly healed over, like the split lip and the black eye. He must have actually used the damn med hypo, thankfully. He seems to have changed the bandages on his chest and arms as well.

Alistair grins at Brick, "I told you I would be perfectly fine. I have been through worse in the time you've known me."

"Yeah yeah," Brick laughs, "But we still had to come save your scrawny ass!" Alistair gives him the middle finger, making Brick laugh more. Wainwright watches the two of them with a smile, glad to see Alistair seems to be feeling better. Alistair grabs absently at Wainwright's mug, grimacing when he takes a sip.

"Eugh, horrid. How can any of you drink this... Hot bean nonsense," he says, disdainfully.

"Because we got taste, hermano!" Mordecai calls, raising the coffee pot he's started drinking straight out of. There's a shriek from behind them, and then a pink and blonde blob is throwing herself over Alistair's shoulders. He winces, clearly trying not to shout in pain.

"Good morning, Tina," he says, patting her arm. Thankfully she lets go.

"Hammylocks! Boo it is so good to see you lookin' PROPER!" she exclaims, hugging him again. "OH shit, wait hold up." she darts out of the room again. Wainwright gives Alistair a look, and he shrugs in response. Tina comes back a minute later, carrying a tea tray covered with the most horrifying stack of pancakes Wainwright has ever seen. Zane and Flynn join them a moment later, and the room settles into the dull hum of dining and conversation.

"She better clean my damn kitchen," Wainwright grumbles to himself, earning a laugh from Alistair.

"She will, Brick will not let her leave without doing so." Alistair is busily stacking his plate, not stopping when Wainwright gives him a curious look. "Save your judgement, I don't remember the last time I had a proper meal." Wainwright winces slightly, remembering how prominent Alistair's ribs were. He doesn't respond, instead kissing his cheek.

The conversation turns to the CoV, as conversation always does nowadays. Wainwright tunes out a little, Alistair and the vault hunters seem to have a pretty good grasp on things. Flynn nudges his side, snapping him out of it.

"Hm? Somethin' wrong?" he asks. They shake their head, looking not at him but at Zane. He gives them a thumbs up. Flynn nods, turning back to Wainwright.

"I'm goin' with the vault hunters. I'm gonna join up with the raiders an' help 'em take down those cult dumbasses." Their voice is determined, their expression hard. They're serious about this. He can't really blame them. Wainwright chews his cheek a moment, and nods. 

"Well alright. You jus' promise you'll look after yourself, alright kid?" Flynn nods seriously.

"You got my word." They look back to Zane, who winks at them. If Wainwright isn't mistaken the kid blushes a little.

Alistair squeezes his hand. Wainwright's focus is immediately on him. Alistair doesn't say anything, just smiles softly at him. Wainwright feels his world narrow down to just that smile, and the feeling of a hand in his. He doesn't pay attention to anything, doesn't talk to anyone or hear anything else, he's entirely focused on watching Alistair as he talks to his friends, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of his hand.

Eventually, the vault hunters pack up. They need to go back to whatever ship they came from for a report and a restock. Amara assures them they'll be back ASAP, to find the vault. Alistair says his goodbyes, the B-Team is leaving too. Wainwright stays off to the side, not wanting to interrupt the hugs and handshakes and Tina pleading for Alistair to come over for tea and a game of grenade ball soon. Wainwright says a few goodbyes as well, talks some mission plans with Amara and gets a surprisingly gentle hugs from Brick doubled with a threat to keep Alistair safe. He's not even bothered by it, he can't be mad over someone caring about his partner.

Wainwright isn't worried about them actually coming back or not. They will, of course they will, there's still a vault after all. Ridiculously dangerous career choice they've all made. Which reminds him. He steps over to the group heading out the door, Flynn is in the middle of it with Zane, their pack ready on their shoulders.

"Flynt, hold up a sec."

Zane stops dead in his tracks, doing a flashy little heel turn to face Wainwright again.

"Somethin' on yer mind, bossman?" he says, grinning in that obnoxious way he has.

"Yeah. You keep that damn kid safe or I'll bronze your ass and mount you over the mantle."

"Ooh, kinky."

Alistair bursts into giggles, clapping a hand over his mouth at the outburst. Zane winks at him. Wainwright simply glares at him, completely deadpan. Zane pats his shoulder, not bothered at all.

"They'll be jus' fine, Jakobs, swear on me life!"

"They better be, or I'll perforate your ass with my shotgun."

"Ya promise?"

Alistair laughs harder, nearly doubled over. Wainwright just makes a pained, long suffering sound. 

"Will you behave yourself for once?" Amara's tattooed hand appears, grabbing Zane by the collar again and hauling him out the door. She smiles apologetically,   
"He's a nightmare, just ignore him. Be seeing you two soon!"

Wainwright waves them out, heading towards the doorway to watch them all pile in their cars and take off. Just like that, it's quiet again, just the dull him of cicadas and the wind in the trees. 

"I quite like that Zane fellow," Alistair's voice comes from behind. Wainwright smiles softly, raising an eyebrow.

"Figures you like the obnoxious one," he says with a wry grin. Alistair snacks his chest lightly.

"I could make a joke about my type being obnoxious men while overtly gesturing to you, but that seems a bit rude." Wainwright rolls his eyes lightly, putting an arm around Alistair's waist lightly. He makes another mental note to marry this man.

"Think if anyone's type is obnoxious it's me, jus' look at my boyfriend." Alistair scoffs at that, elbowing Wainwright in the ribs before leaning against him, putting an arm around him as well. He sighs, drawing Wainwright's concern.

"You feelin' okay, darlin'?" he asks, pulling Alistair a little closer to him. The man in question hums to himself softly, resting his head against Wainwright's shoulder.

"A bit subpar physically, as is expected after everything," his arm tightens around Wainwright, "Emotionally, however, I feel better than I have in weeks." Wainwright's heart clenches, he knows the feeling well. Alistair cuts him off before he can say that, though.

"Amara found an echo of yours, in a cave. She gave it to me on the way back here," he says, moving away to look Wainwright in the eye. Wainwright's heart drops to his feet. He was drunk out of his mind but he's pretty sure he remembers which one that was. There was a lot of crying and screaming that night, he thought he'd erased the tape, dammit, Wainwright you foolish-

"Winny, look at me," Alistair's soft voice interrupts his mental beration. Wainwright meets his eyes without hesitation. He doesn't say anything. Alistair cups his cheek in his hand. "I am not going anywhere, not again. Being apart from you was more torturous than, well, the actual torture. I will not let my own misguided judgment take me away again."

"You better not," is all Wainwright can choke out past the lump in his throat. Alistair holds up his hand, pinky out. 

"I won't if you won't, my dear," he replies. Wainwright laughs softly, hooking his pinky finger with Alistair's. He can't help but lean in and place a soft kiss on his lips over their conjoined hands, sealing the deal twice over. Alistair sighs, and Wainwright can feel the smile on his lips. They have to break away eventually, and when they do their gazes turn out the door, to Eden. The morning is quiet, but there's still signs of terror hiding underneath. The shed's been burnt to a shell, patches of grass corroded away, bullet holes throw the windows and doors. 

It's been a hell of a month, he's nearly died more times than he can count, he's watched people die, and seen his home burn. Right now though, with Alistair at his side, Wainwright feels invincible. 

"I do not know what will come next, but..." Alistair trails off, his voice uncertain. Wainwright watches a column of smoke in the distance.

"Whatever it is, we ain't gonna let it win. I'll kick your damn sister in the teeth myself if I gotta," he says, happy to hear Alistair laugh. They fall quiet, still wrapped around each other. Wainwright feels whole for the first time in ages, there's no fear, no anger. There is nothing but love in his heart right now, bringing hope with it. The air carries a weight of uncertainty with the cool morning breeze, but Wainwright knows that whatever storm comes, they'll weather it together.


End file.
